A Day At The Imperial Fight Festival
by Cortana Hansen
Summary: Nefarious and Lawrence go to the Imperial Fight Festival. Ridiculousness ensues. Takes place during Ratchet and Clank: Tools of Destruction.


**Okay, so I was reading some trivia about Dr. Nefarious on the Ratchet and Clank Wiki and thought this might be a very funny idea. :)**

. . .

 _One day..._

"LAAAAAWWWRENCE!" Nefarious marched into the darkroom, where Lawrence was developing photos. The butler wasn't happy with his boss interrupting.

Lawrence turned to the Doctor. "Sir, you just ruined my hard work. I spent hours developing this photo of you slipping on the feather duster yesterday. Now it's ruined."

"Stop whining, Lawrence!" Nefarious pulled the butler out of the darkroom, picked up an empty bag he had set next to the door earlier, and shoved it into Lawrence's hands. "Pack your things, Lawrence! We're going to the Imperial Fight Festival on Mukow!"

"For what, may I ask?" Lawrence replied, already bored.

"To see all those stupid squishies kill each other, of course!" Nefarious told him, rubbing his metallic hands together. "Oooh! I can't wait to see their guts all over the arena!"

 _"A very disturbing image,"_ Lawrence thought. Then he said, "Have you considered the fact that we may be recognised the second we land on Mukow? Captain Qwark is the new announcer, after all. After the last one was... 'lost' in that nasty business involving Zorthan and the burrito."

Nefarious rolled his eyes. "I already got that covered. Now... GET PACKING!"

. . .

 _Very soon..._

"Sir... I hate to ask," Lawrence spoke as he piloted the ship into the Cerullean Sector, "but... remind me... _why_ are you dressed in _that?"_

Nefarious was wearing the weirdest disguise yet, complete with a straw hat, white lab coat, a t-shirt with a picture of Skid McMarx on it, and plaid pants. And sandals. The pants really did not look very appealing on him, in Lawrence's opinion. Like Nefarious wouldn't stand out at all.

"Perhaps a less... obvious disguise would suffice?" Lawrence suggested.

"Obvious?!" Nefarious repeated, looking at his butler. "This is my best disguise yet! You look like a clown!"

Lawrence was actually wearing a blond wig and a nice tuxedo. The butler decided to keep his mouth shut and just keep flying. Within minutes, they landed on Mukow, at the entrance of the Festival.

Nefarious hopped out eagerly and stretched his limbs (a squishy habit, though he would _never_ admit it). Lawrence stepped of the ship as well, sighing tiredly. Nefarious turned to his butler. "You have the wallet, right?"

Lawrence nodded.

"Alright!" Nefarious shouted, jumping up and down with glee. _That_ and his mismatched outfit drew some spectators. "Let's go blow some bolts and then see squishies get beheaded! _Hahahahaha!"_

While the very strange robot duo headed into the Festival, a little Markiazian girl of about six looked up to her mother and asked, "Mummy... what are 'squishies?' And why was the robot guy wearing that weird hat?"

While _that_ was going on, Nefarious was going around buying practically everything in the gift shop, from astronaut toilet paper to Captain Qwark sticker sheets, which he bought only so he could stomp all over them. Lawrence stood idly by, eyeing a wig that they had on sale.

While Nefarious jumped up and down on the last Qwark sticker sheet, Lawrence said, "Sir, this wig is on sale."

"So?" Nefarious asked, kicking the sheet aside. "We don't need wigs."

"And you don't need to step all over our merchandise right in the shop," the Cazar cashier at the desk muttered, chin resting on her hands. Thankfully for her Nefarious wasn't even paying attention.

"I only have twenty wigs in my collection, sir," Lawrence pressed.

The cashier rolled her eyes.

Nefarious shook his head. "No, we blew enough bolts already. C'mon, if we stand here all day, I won't get to see the squishies get vaporized!"

"But sir-!"

"NOW, LAWRENCE!" Nefarious shrieked, grabbing Lawrence by the wrist and practically dragging him out the gift shop.

The cashier was relieved. "What a pair of weirdos..."

. . .

 _The arena..._

Nefarious was _still_ pulling Lawrence. He was rather tired by the time they got to their seats. "You... really need... to lose some weight," Nefarious commented.

Lawrence was very offended by that, but managed to keep a calm tone as he replied, "Sir, that isn't possible, considering the fact that... well... I'm not organic."

Nefarious just rolled his eyes and looked down at the arena, excited beyond words. "Oooh! I can't wait! Aren't you excited, Lawrence?"

Lawrence sighed for the hundredth time that day. "Yes, sir. I am very excited indeed." No, he wasn't excited in the slightest.

Nefarious immediately frowned when he saw who one of the contestants was. "Wait... is that Ratchet... wearing a mustache and glasses? Or is that a Cazar with a weird outfit?"

 _"Says the robot wearing a straw hat and a lab coat..."_ Lawrence told him," It is indeed Ratchet. And Clank."

 _"ANNIHILATE_ THEM! ANNIHILATE THEM _BOTH!"_ Nefarious shrieked loudly as the first few enemies entered the arena. The spectators glared at him. He glared back. "What?"

Down below, Clank asked Ratchet, "Did you hear something?"

"Yeah," Ratchet replied, dodging an enemy blast. "Sounded like somebody screaming about Annihilation Nation."

"Perhaps they prefer Annihilation Nation over this," Clank said. "Hehehehe!"

Ratchet rolled his eyes. "Right..."

Nefarious watched the scene before him, cheering on the enemies. "Come on! Kill them! Kill them _both!"_

A certain Plumber sitting in front looked back at them. "Do you mind? I'm trying to watch this!"

"Nobody asked your opinion, squishy," Nefarious retorted.

The Plumber looked at him more closely, as though he was trying to figure out something. "Right... well, see you in about three years." He looked back down at the arena, no longer paying any mind to Nefarious.

Nefarious leaned over to Lawrence and whispered, "That is one weird squishy..."

Lawrence merely nodded, now actually immersed in the battle between Ratchet and the enemy combatants. Perhaps today wouldn't have been such a waste after all...

. . .

 _On their way back to the ship..._

Lawrence frowned as he felt his pockets while they exited the Festival. "Sir..."

"Yes, Lawrence?" a grumpy Nefarious replied. While he _did_ get to see plenty of "squishy guts" from all those Drophyd bodies in the arena, he didn't get to see Ratchet and Clank get annihilated. Needless to say, he was disappointed.

"I believe I lost our wallet, sir."

Nefarious stared at Lawrence, eye twitching. _"What_ did you say?"

"I lost our wallet."

Nefarious clenched his fists in anger. Spectators gathered around and watched the scene with interest. Nefarious then screeched, "LAAAAAAAAWRRR-" And the usual happened.

 _"Oh, Janice! Say you'll never leave me for that jerk Englebert!"_

 _"I won't, Lance, I promise!"_

Lawrence promptly shoved Nefarious into the ship, still letting the broadcast play. "I am dreadfully sorry, sir, but I'm afraid that we can't retrieve the wallet. The Imperial Fight Festival is extremely large, and last I checked, wallets are _very..._ well... small."

. . .

 _At the concession stand..._

Qwark frowned as a certain young Cazar woman approached him, holding a wallet. "Captain Qwark, sir, one of my customers dropped this on the way out of the gift shop. I found it on the floor a few minutes ago." She handed it to him.

"Why, thank you, madam!" Qwark replied, smiling. "You've done a great service to the community! Your vigilance is both admirable and quadrilateral!"

The Cazar just shrugged. "Whatever. Bye." Then she left.

Qwark snatched the microphone at his desk, looked at the ID in the wallet, and called, "Will a 'Dr. Nefarious' please report to the concession stand; we recovered your wallet!" Qwark's smile quickly turned into a frown as he looked back at the ID. Nefarious' picture was as clear as day. "Oh... dear... Orvus..."

THE END

. . .

 **And that, my friends, is how I imagined Nefarious losing his wallet in Tools of Destruction! XD Constructive criticism is appreciated!**


End file.
